


Sweetest Secret

by orphan_account



Series: Sweetest Secret [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Date, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa's been stood up for blind dates before, so the surprise isn't when Loras Tyrell doesn't show up - it's when his sister does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweetest Secret

She had very strategically chosen a seat in one of the booths by a window of the restaurant, but watching the snow fall outside had done little to quell Sansa’s nerves. She occupied herself by arranging the fabric of her pea coat for the hundredth time, smoothing the grey fabric around her waist and trailing errant, anxious fingers through her red hair. She should take the coat off, she thought; the air in the restaurant was stifling, but keeping her coat on would make a quick getaway easier.

She’d told Shae this was a bad idea, but for some reason her friend insisted that Sansa needed to get out of her dorm room and away from her books, and apparently a blind date was the best way to do it?

Well, at least Shae had let her bring one of her books with her. The least she could do if she got stood up – again – was work on her medieval history homework.

Above her, someone cleared her throat and Sansa fairly jumped five feet in the air, nearly knocking over her cup of water and only just righting it before settling her gaze on the woman standing above her.

A peach rose was in her hand; she held it out to Sansa with dimples creasing her cheeks.

“I-I… you must have the wrong table?” A waiter was coming over and Sansa quickly shooed him away with a shake of her head.

The other woman raised an eyebrow at her. “Is your name Sansa Stark?”

_Damn._

She nodded.

“Then I have the absolutely correct table.” She was still holding out the rose. “I’m Loras Tyrell.”

“Loras isn’t a girl’s name…”

“Have you ever met anyone named Loras?”

“… Well, no.”

She finally took the rose that was offered to her, her cheeks now matching in shade to the slight red blush that spread over the rose’s peach petals. A pair of blue eyes twinkled at her over the flower; the older woman – she was obviously older, not one of the twenty-two year old giggling girls Sansa was used to – gestured toward the seat across from Sansa.

“May I?”

She was dressed in a suit. A dark navy pin-striped suit with dangly earrings, brunette hair held back from her face with clips and radiating curls down her shoulders. She took in Sansa as she sat in response to the other girl’s nod, and Sansa felt painfully underdressed, even as she finally unbuttoned her coat and slid it off to reveal the deep purple shirt and jeans she wore underneath. It had taken her two hours just to decide on her clothes.

And another hour to decide to get on the bus to come to the restaurant.

“Loras—“

“Margaery.”

“I beg pardon?” Sansa blinked, and the girl sitting across from her smiled, apologetically.

“I am Margaery Tyrell. Loras is my brother.”

“Who is not here,” Sansa said, feeling the discouragement keenly. It was all a chore, this getting out and meeting people, but for the shortest amount of time the prospect had been… inviting.

“Who is not here,” the sister-of-her-not-blind-date said, regret still in her voice. “I love him dearly, but he can be a stupid one.”

“It’s a-all right,” Sansa hastened to say, looking down at her coat. “This has happened before, it’s probably for the best, and I’m not terribly interesting as it is…”

“People have stood you up before?” Margaery said, tilting her head at Sansa. “Well, their loss, I should say, and my brother’s as well, even if, as beautiful as you are, he’s not one bit interested.”

Sansa’s head was spinning. Who was this woman, why was she here instead of her brother – had she just called Sansa beautiful? – What on earth was going on? She needed to get back to her dorm. Homework.

She reached for her book and her coat.

“Not one bit interested.”

“Although that’s not Loras’s fault either, if I might take up for him just this once. Poor boy, I don’t know why he didn’t turn down Shae when she suggested it, but I guess he doesn’t want her to know, for some reason.”

“Know?” Sansa was searching for her dorm key, but looked up in spite of herself.

“Hmm.” Margaery steepled her fingers under her chin and regarded Sansa. “My brother sent me here,” she said, “Something I wouldn’t normally do except for the fact that he was so embarrassed and distressed.”

Sansa shrugged. “It isn’t a big deal. Like I said, it’s happened before.”

“Men can be stupid,” Margaery said, a smile dancing across her lips again. “I can’t forgive them for being so stupid not to see what’s in front of me, but I do hope you can forgive my brother for, well…”

“Well?” Sansa prompted, once more flustered by what seemed to be a compliment from this complete stranger.

“How shall I put this?” Margaery mused, as she suddenly stretched out in the booth, her back up against the wall and her legs draped over the seat. She looked over her shoulder at Sansa.

“My brother may not wear all of the colors of the rainbow, but he very proudly waves the flag… in secret.”

“Wait, he wha- _oh_. Oh.” The realization dawned on Sansa, a realization that somehow made her blush even further.

“He wanted to send Renly at first, but I told him he’d make an even bigger mess of things than Loras already had.”

“Renly…”

“His boyfriend.”

“Ah.”

Margaery hummed again; this time when the waiter came to the table, Sansa didn’t wave him away. He stood expectantly.

“I… should probably go?”

“If you wish,” Margaery said with a shrug. “This whole thing is unorthodox and I understand if you’re angry. I think I’ll stay though; Loras was so ridiculously distraught I came straight here without dinner.” She took the menu the waiter promptly handed her, and began to thumb through it.

“Though I haven’t the slightest idea what’s good here.”

“The lemon cakes,” Sansa blurted out, then quieted. “I-I mean… they’re quite good for dessert. And I like, well…” She reached out and tapped one of the selections on the menu.

Margaery tipped her head in pleased agreement, then looked at Sansa. “Well then, one order of this, or… shall we make it two and you allow me to treat you to lemon cakes after, in apology for my brother’s ridiculousness?”

It wouldn’t take much of an effort for her just to get up and leave. Her dorm key was in her hand, her coat and book at her side, and… Sansa rested her key on the table.

“I’d never say no to the cakes, but you don’t need to apologize. I understand.”

Margaery smiled, widely in a way that made her eyes glint with merriment, and Sansa couldn’t help but laugh when she said, “Perhaps we can make a real go at this then, and I’ll be the dashing boy Loras on a blind date with the surprisingly lovely Sansa Stark.”

Sansa shook her head. “Do people ever really tell the truth on these things?” she wondered aloud to herself, not really caring that Margaery heard. It was such a bizarre ritual; two people meeting together to try to impress each other, to show off their potential at being a good mate – or, at least, a good _bed_ mate. A million questions and at the end of the hour or two, did you really know any more about each other than you had when you’d said hello?

“I promise to tell you the truth if you do.” She looked at Margaery, who had extended her hand.

“Hello, my name is Margaery Tyrell.”

Sansa grinned a little, and took Margaery’s hand. “I’m Sansa Stark.”

The words ended in a squeak when Margaery turned the hand held in hers, and lightly kissed the knuckles.

“A lady should always be properly greeted, don’t you think?” Margaery said, and Sansa blushed.

“I’m not a lady.”

A college student on scholarship. Her family poor but happy, yet still out of place in this world of wealth.

“Oh, I am.”

And Sansa knew that Margaery was telling the truth. The very way she carried herself, the clothing she wore, the smoothness of her skin… everything told Sansa that Margaery Tyrell was every inch a lady.

“What do you do?” she asked suddenly, and cringed at the lameness of her own question.

But if Margaery was insulted she didn’t betray it, her blue eyes twinkling over the candlelight in King’s Landing’s finest restaurant.

“Politics,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if _that_ were the most boring thing in the world instead of the conversation she was having with KLU’s most awkward student. “Right now I assist my grandmother with her council on foreign relations.”

“Grandmother….” A wave of familiarity niggled her brain, and Sansa gasped with the realization. “You’re Olenna Tyrell’s granddaughter!”

Margaery Tyrell. Granddaughter of Olenna Tyrell. The _prime minister_.

Oh, Dany was going to love hearing about this one.

And suddenly Sansa was dowdy in her purple shirt and jeans, cheeks as aflame as her hair. She’d have been on a blind date with the _grandson_ of the prime minister, a boy probably used to the highest fashions and decorum, and she’d have been… dressed like _this_.

Somehow, the idea that she was in front of Margaery now made it even worse. Sansa looked at the plates of dinner the waiter had just brought, and wanted to retch. Echoes of past words played in her head at a cruel staccato, words she thought she’d buried in the last year, but maybe… maybe not.

“Well, this looks good enough to eat!” Margaery said, seeming oblivious to Sansa’s discomfort. “I’d say this is the second most beautiful thing I’ve seen all evening.”

“What’s the first?” Sansa asked dumbly.

Margaery just looked at her, a crooked smile lifting the corner of one cheek.

The words quieted, and Sansa picked up her fork.

“So what do you—“

“Student,” Sansa interrupted, then blushed furiously. “I-I mean I’m a… student at KLU.”

“Ooh!” Margaery said, leaning forward over her plate a little, eyes fastened on Sansa. “And what do you study?”

“Literature,” Sansa said, a smile finally crossing over her face as she warmed to one of her favorite subjects to chat about. “Mostly the classic Brits, Jane and Charles and the like.” They were family almost, in the way that she could use their first names. They had been brothers and sisters, sometimes a mother or father when things at home hadn’t gone perfectly. Her closest companions, her best of friends.

Margaery nodded through her bite of pasta. “I do love a good Jane.” She winked at Sansa conspiratorially.

“Though I’ve often wished that Lizzie ended up with the other Darcy.”

“Other Darcy…?”

“Georgiana.” Margaery smirked. “Is that wrong of me?”

Sansa, mouth gone dry, only just shook her head.

She’d not had any wine – in the last year, wine had lost its savor, and Sansa was content to do without. But she felt like she was drunk, her head spinning with thoughts of Tyrell and prime minister and Georgiana and _Margaery_.

Just who was this girl, she wondered, who was so free with herself in the languid way that she kept her body draped in the booth as she ate, small and calculated yet completely at ease movements of hand to fork to mouth? She was tired, Sansa could tell that in the subtle droop to Margaery’s eyelids, and the abrupt realization that she was staring full-on at the other girl was tempered by the quick pang of worry that sunk through her.

Somehow they drifted into easy conversation then, Sansa babbling on about her books and her romance, even if she’d long stopped believing Pride and Prejudice was real. Margaery had smiled at her in a way that was indulgent but not patronizing; Sansa knew she was naïve in more ways than one but Margaery didn’t seem determined to make her feel stupid for it. Her soft, interested questions coaxed more answers out of Sansa than she would have ever dreamed of giving… well, him, but he’d never been interested anyway.

It was a quick call and return of what Sansa assumed was the usual blind date ritual; she steadily found herself learning more of the Tyrells and their relationship with the famous grandmother. Of summers in a town called Highgarden, which, Sansa found herself confessing, sounded much more inviting than her own hometown of Winterfell, as much as she loved it.

“You’ll come visit sometime,” Margaery announced, with all the assuredness of a young lady (twenty five to Sansa’s twenty one, they’d learned) used to getting what she wanted, and Sansa stared at her open-mouthed even as her mind began to whirl with ideas of “what if?”

They talked of Sansa’s family, of the large Stark brood with strong Ned and loving Catelyn at the top, of Arya and her endless need for adventure, Bran and his chair. Margaery’s face had softened as she listened to Sansa describe the accident; her free hand had ventured across the table and touched Sansa’s fingers.

It burned, tingling up her arm to her shoulders, and Sansa wished for wine.

The dogs, Robb, her parents, she chattered on endlessly about them, probably revealing more than she intended of how much she had taken them for granted and how much she missed them when she was away at school. She longed for the holidays, the house decorated in the colors of Christmas, spices and tea wafting to her nose and listening to Arya and Bran argue over who was going to play which video game when. She missed Rickon’s messy kisses, missed Lady’s warmth in the mornings when she woke up to the dog flopped next to her in bed. She missed… family.

And in turn Margaery regaled her with tales of her grandmother and her brother and her family, of being called “pig face” by a cranky cousin, and Sansa’s mouth dropped open as if she was personally affronted by the insult to the older girl sitting across from her. She’d rejected a fork for her fingers as Margaery attacked the lemon cakes with fervor, and Sansa couldn’t help but grin a little and push her own fork to the side.

There are grand parties at Highgarden, celebrities and politicians alike, and Margaery told of when she and Loras were too small to do anything but sit on the steps and watch when they were meant to be in bed. It’s clear, Sansa thinks, the rivalry and love the two siblings have for each other, and she actually is for a moment disappointed that she didn’t meet Loras that evening.

But Margaery was eating cakes and looking at her with that same crooked smile, her suit jacket unbuttoned to reveal a blue – was that argyle? – top, and the slightest hint of lace bra. Sansa swallowed hard and focused on her dessert.

“Well, we’ve gotten to know quite a lot about each other, haven’t we?” Margaery said merrily, and Sansa nodded with a smile. “I feel as if I’ve known you forever, and we’ve only sat here for…” She glanced at her watch, her eyes widening.

“Two and a half hours.”

Sansa gaped, her shock giving way to girlish giggles. “I can’t believe it!”

“Nor can I,” Margaery said, sounding suddenly regretful. “Because I still have things to do before I can close out my evening, which means I need to go.”

“Oh.” She gestured for the check, which was summarily yanked out of her hand by Margaery, who sat it on the table with a slim gold card covering it.

“You only said dessert…” she faltered, even though she knew the bill would be more than she allowed herself to spend for three months.

“So I did,” Margaery mused. “Oh well. I shall let you pick up dessert next time.”

Next time? Sansa stared at her with wide eyes.

And then Margaery was scrawling her name and a number on a cloth restaurant napkin in a fine black hand, folding it and placing it into one of Sansa’s. She didn’t answer, merely stood up and pocketed her card after the waiter had returned with her receipt, and waited for Sansa to rise.

Which she did, numbly, tucking her coat around her and following Margaery outside into the cool air of evening; Margaery shivered and once again there was that pang of worry. The suit didn’t look warm enough. But hopefully she didn’t have far to travel.

“What do we do now?” Sansa asked. She’d never been on a blind date before, and had barely navigated the date itself. Like a maze when you didn’t know what the prize was at the end.

“Hmm.” Margaery smiled and hooked her arm through Sansa’s suddenly. “Now I think we become good friends.”

“Oh. That… that would make me very happy.”

“I do think we ought to end it with a bang, though.”

“What?” Sansa burst out, her eyes widening. She’d never been with anyone before, not even… not even _Joffrey_ , despite his numerous attempts, and now… now she was expected to hop into bed with a _woman_ that she had only just met?

Margaery looked at her, confused, before it hit her, and she tilted her head back and laughed, leaving Sansa a little hurt even at the musicality of it. “Oh, sweet girl, I didn’t mean a your place or mine kind of thing.”

“Oh,” Sansa said. “I’m an idiot.”

“No you’re not.” Margaery squeezed her arm and Sansa thought that her eyes seemed to be two sparkling stars in a night sky of dull ones.

“I only meant that now we’ve traversed this road of ‘getting to know you’ together, we ought to get down to the real truth of it all. Secrets, just between us girls. Something that no one else knows.”

Rather like a game of “never have I ever,” Sansa thought, and she shrugged. “I don’t know what _you’d_ like to know.”

“Well,” Margaery drew the word out to a delicious length, and somehow, Sansa shivered. “First and foremost on my mind, I suppose, would be… Sansa Stark, do you have a preference for the fairer sex?”

Sansa blinked.

“Do you like girls?”

“I-I don’t know,” she stammered, and would have moved to pull her arm away if Margaery hadn’t been holding fast.

They were walking towards the bus station, she realized. It would take her back to her dorm at KLU.

Had Margaery driven to the restaurant? Walked? If she had a car, what would it look like? Sansa tried to imagine herself sitting in the passenger seat, with Margaery at her side, the wind in Margaery’s hair from the open window and Margaery’s hand on her—

“Have you had boyfriends?”

Sansa’s jaw tightened. “One,” she said, and felt humiliated when the tears threatened to overwhelm her and her voice cracked. “And that is all I wish to say about that.”

“Ah.” Margaery’s hand had slipped down her arm to grasp Sansa’s fingers in hers. It should feel strange, she thought, but Margaery’s hand was small and dainty in spite of the girl’s attitude. And yet, though Sansa’s own hand dwarfed Margaery’s, she felt so indescribably… insignificant and important all at once, as they walked hand in hand down an empty sidewalk to the station.

“Some girls like men,” Margaery was saying. “Bald, hairy, ugly, pretty.” She flashed a smile at Sansa. “And some women like pretty girls.”

Sansa thought about the rose that was held in her other hand.

They walked along in silence for a while, until once again Margaery broke into Sansa’s thoughts. “You haven’t asked me any of my secrets.”

Sansa smiled a little. “It would’ve been rude.”

Margaery snorted. “What are secrets between friends?” She tossed her brunette curls and gave Sansa a wink. “Go on. Ask me anything.”

Sansa considered this for a moment, then suddenly blurted out a question that had her turning as red as her hair to the tips of her ears.

“Favorite sexual fantasy?”

She was mortified. She was mortified and Margaery was looking at her with her mouth open in a slight “o” and Sansa wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.

“Well we’ve jumped right to the heart of the matter, haven’t we?”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t m-mean to, I—“

“Don’t look so terrified, sweetling, it was only a question,” Margaery said, the softness in her voice instantly putting Sansa back at ease. At least a little.

“I think,” Margaery said, her brow furrowed as if she was in deep thought, “I think perhaps my very favorite fantasy has been…” She glanced at Sansa.

“To have a pretty girl on her knees for me.”

She didn’t need the coat anymore; it was just too damn hot outside, and Sansa unbuttoned the collar.

“You’ve had… relationships before then.”

Relationships. Sansa sighed inwardly.

“I have.”

“Girls?”

“Girls.”

“And boys?”

“And boys.”

“And have…” Sansa reached for the words, fumbling with the flower in her other hand. “Have any of them been on their knees for you?”

“No,” Margaery said, tsking her tongue lightly. “Pity, too. Though I suppose maybe it’s a blessing of the gods that I haven’t found someone worthy of kneeling for me.”

“A blessing?”

“A secret’s only a secret if you don’t go sharing it with other people all the time,” Margaery explained, and Sansa had the distinct idea that Margaery was talking about much more than Sansa’s question. “It cheapens it, the more people you tell. If you can find that one person to share your deepest secret with, well, it makes it that much more sweet, don’t you think?”

Sansa nodded, then.

“What’s yours?”

“Mine?”

Margaery bumped her shoulder. “Your deepest sexual fantasy.”

“Oh, well, I-I-“ she stopped, flustered, to the point that she even stopped walking and looked down at her feet.

She took a deep breath.

“To be a pretty gi—“

“You _are_ a pretty girl, Sansa Stark,” Margaery Tyrell said, tugging lightly so that Sansa resumed walking with her.

“Thank you.”

It was all too soon and they were at Sansa’s stop, the bus still minutes away. No one else was there and so she and Margaery stood under the lamplight, Margaery looking up at her and Sansa looking down at her feet, which shuffled awkwardly against the pavement.

“All in all I think it’s been a rather success—“

“Did you get enough to—“

They broke off, laughing as they shared shy smiles.

“Did you get enough to eat?” Sansa asked, still taking in Margaery’s drooping eyes and the tired lift to the corner of her mouth as she nodded. “I hate that you came straight to the restaurant without taking care of yourself first.”

“Which is terribly sweet of you, dear, but I assure you, I’m fine. Another hour or two with my papers at home, and then I shall be blissfully unaware of today’s happenings.”

Margaery hesitated, then met Sansa’s eyes. “Well, most of today’s happenings. I rather think some of it will stay with me for a good while, as well as my hopes for… a repeat?”

“A repeat?”

Margaery squeezed Sansa’s hand. “Coffee,” she said carefully. “Or tea, or another restaurant. Or just… a stroll in the park, whatever you would like.”

And then Sansa understood what Margaery was asking her for. She hadn’t expected it; most blind dates ended in discomfort or disaster. Certainly not in requests for a second date.

“Is that why I have a napkin with your name and number on it?” she found the courage to tease, lightly, and was rewarded when under the harsh white light she could see Margaery blush.

“Perhaps. Will you use it?”

Sansa smiled, feeling suddenly girlish and seventeen again. “Once, so that you’ll know my own number,” she said, and then tilted her head at Margaery.

“And then again, later this week, perhaps… Wednesday? I have tests so I won’t be able to do anything until th—“

“Shh.” Margaery’s finger on her lips tasted like rosewater. “Wednesday, after six?”

Sansa felt disappointed when Margaery’s finger vanished. “Wednesday, after six.”

She could feel the rumble of the bus on the street, each turn of the wheel and vibration of the road beating a thin time with the only word currently running through her head.

_Margaery._

_Margaery._

Margaery was looking up at her, shades of an endearing smile on her face as she said, “Well, shall we end this the usual way?”

She held out her hand.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Sansa said, the truth bursting out of her as if it had been there, all this time, waiting.

“Finish?” Margaery cocked her head. “There wasn’t any lemon cake left.”

Sansa laughed. “No, you didn’t let me finish what I was going to say, earlier.”

“I’m thoroughly confused by what you mean, but I’d be really angry at myself if I missed even one word of anything you say, Sansa Stark, so do continue.”

Emboldened by Margaery’s response, Sansa’s voice still nevertheless faltered.

“I want to be a pretty girl… on my knees.”

 _For you_. Sansa wasn’t sure she wanted to add that. Not just yet.

In the steam and rumble and gas of the bus that came careening towards them, Margaery Tyrell’s blush deepened.

“It seems we still have a lot of things to learn about each other,” she said.

Sansa took her hand and turned it in hers.

End this the usual way.

“A lady should always have a proper goodbye, don’t you think?” Sansa asked, and moved to kiss Margaery’s hand.

But then Margaery tipped herself up on her toes and it was so cute that Sansa bent herself down to meet halfway, and when their lips touched, King’s Landing exploded away.

Pasta and lemon lingered on Margaery, mixed with the spice of her lipgloss and her breath barely held against Sansa’s mouth. Her hand moved to clutch at the side of Sansa’s coat, and when they pulled away, neither of them could contain their smiles.

“Wednesday after six?”

“Wednesday after six.”

“Hey, Loras?” Sansa called from the steps of the bus, causing the other woman to turn around and look at her with amusement.

Sansa grinned. “Thank you for the date. I had a lovely time.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
